Second Meeting
by obliviousally
Summary: Following 'First Meeting' in a way. Three years later, a playboy Tony runs into the girl from high school and she's simply another conquest. Told from Pepper's point of view, it explains what happened in the time between HS and her moving to California.


It didn't take long for life to teach Virginia Potts the lesson that Tony was a completely different creature from the Anthony she knew. It was a harsh lesson, but one that needed to be taught.

Three years ago, it was her doing the teaching. Although, in a much happier and pleasurable manner.

They'd dated. Shortly. She was just shy of graduating high school and he was just shy of a summa cum laude (that's 'with highest honors', she learned, not quite up on her Latin titles at the time. 'Highest' was indeed emphasized by young Anthony.) graduation. He'd hit her car while going almost ninety on the freeway (he had corrected her estimate of ten over the speed limit at the time) and has the audacity to offer his number and ask her out for lunch. This was on top of handing over a roll of bills to pay for the damage.

It took her a week and a half to decide to call him.

After that, it turned into weekend trips to Cambridge, Massachusetts to visit him (because, at that time, the last thing she needed was her parents and friends finding out she was dating THE Anthony Stark), spending a lot of time together, and eventually moving things forward into a real relationship. Or, as real as a relationship can get at the ages of sixteen and seventeen (him and her, respectively).

Over time, her friends found out (thanks to Anthony showing up to a casual movie night in the city in a limo) and then her parents (after her nosy older sister discovered photos online of the two of them paling around). Once she managed to smooth things over (which is a skill she was glad she gained early in life), things were peachy. Lovely, even.

Then, The Accident happened.

At first, Anthony seemed to be coping well. As well as a child could after the loss of both parents, at the very least. She was there for support and offered whatever help she could to him. He went to therapy and grief counseling and all those things she'd heard some people go to after a tragedy.

Things were okay.

He started drinking. He started closing up, spending hours upon hours working on projects. She wouldn't see him for days at first, and then weeks. They began fighting. Small spats that turned into screaming matches, leaving them both bitter and resentful. She did her best to stick by him. She reminded herself that he'd just lost his parents, that he's probably going through a lot. But each time another fight broke out, it battered her defenses and made her angrier and angrier at him.

Then, The Fight happened.

She remembers it clearly, much to her dismay. And, years down the road, she'll realize she was the one at fault with the words she couldn't hold back. She was young and she couldn't understand what Anthony was going through. She'd never lost someone so close to her. She wouldn't know what it was like to lose a parent for a long time coming. She was young and she was stupid and she said things she never should have said. He pushed her away and she pushed back and, eventually, she couldn't take it anymore. Once the fight was over, she walked out. Told him she'd talk to him when he wasn't vaguely psychotic and drunk.

But trying to talk again was futile.

He never returned her calls. She left voicemail after voicemail, desperately worried about him. Then, after his number was disconnected, she drove up to Long Island to see him. There, she met Obadiah Stane. He knew her, but she'd never met the man. He explained he was watching over Anthony and she explained what happened the night of the fight.

Obadiah informed her that she was 'no longer part of his plans' and to not bother Anthony again.

After that, she walked out and never looked back. She went home and packed up everything he'd ever given her; the Louboutins, the dress shirt, everything, and left it hidden in the back of her closet. She couldn't bring herself to throw it away, but she didn't want to see it. She didn't want its visual presence.

She moved on, to college, to new relationships, a new job and to a very small studio apartment outside of Malibu where she was going to school. Far away from Philadelphia and New York and Boston, where memories plagued her every day.

Until a late Friday night and a chance run in with a nineteen year old Tony Stark. He was different somehow, she remembers thinking, but she couldn't put her finger on just what had changed. But his charm had certainly matured and, though he didn't recognize her (and why would he, she was aware of his playboy nature and was sure he'd swept three other redheads off their feet and onto their backs in the last month), she would recognize him miles away. He slid up to her while she was outside getting some air and she declined his offer at first, hesitantly. And he picked up on it. Anthony never would have noticed. Before she knew it, he had sweet-talked a confident 'I think I'd like that' from her lips.

The next morning, she awoke, alone in a king size bed in a mansion on a Malibu beach. She couldn't believe she'd been so stupid. After locating her clothes, in the same spot she remembered losing them the prior evening; she was let out by the maid. She didn't bother even looking for him. She was one more girl in his little black book of accomplishments and if she saw his face then, she would have hit him so hard his head would have literally spun.

Instead, she walked out of his life, again, and never looked back.


End file.
